


Only Mad Dogs and Englishmen

by wellingtonboots



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Ministry of Magic, Multi, Mystery, Post-War, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:46:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5849167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellingtonboots/pseuds/wellingtonboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU post-HBP In the Spell Damage at St. Mungo's sits Lord Voldemort, his magic sapped and his memory gone. The Ministry wants Voldemort to be rehabilitated and they have chosen the Boy-Who-Lived to do it. Harry enters his 7th year at Hogwarts stuck with an amnesiac Dark Lord who might remember more than the Ministry have bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Hero Falters

**Author's Note:**

> Incidentally the title comes from a well known Indian Proverb "Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun". What that means is up to you…

 

 

" **I won the duel against Voldemort but he's _still_ alive! And he's being cleared of all charges by the Wizengamot! THEY'RE GOING TO _REHABILITATE_ THE DARK LORD! THEY WANT ME TO HELP!** "

Harry's manic screams momentarily drowned out the voice of Weird Sisters singing a remix version of a muggle love song.

 _But I see your true colours_  
Shining through  
I see your true colours  
That's why I love you  
So don't be afraid to let them show  
Your true colours  
True colours are beautiful,  
Like a rainbow

With an angry fizzle the incessant noise coming from the wooden wireless disappeared leaving nothing but a ringing silence in the room, which was unfortunately interrupted by the sound of seven people gasping simultaneously.

"Harry!" Hermione's scandalized voice cut through the tension as Mrs Weasley hurried over to the window sill to put out the small flames that had erupted from the Harry's well aimed hex.

"Normally I won't mind, mate, but we've only got one radio," muttered Ron breathlessly as he rubbed his long mane of red locks.

Harry slumped back in the armchair by the fire, no semblance of guilt crossed his features. His mind was burning with rage, all he could think about was Voldemort alive and well under the Ministry's protection. The hypocritical idiots at the Ministry had begged The Chosen One to save them from the Dark Lord and yet when Harry finally succeed in defeating Voldemort, they turned on him like vipers. They were so short sighted that, despite everything Voldemort had done, the Ministry believed being rendered an amnesiac was enough to permanently neutralise the most feared Dark Lord in a century. Now there was talk about _rehabilitation_ as if Voldemort was a garden variety juvenile delinquent who's worst crime was blowing up a toilet.

After the flames from the radio had died down and the acrid black smoke it had produced had been banished out of the window. Mrs Weasley turn to Harry with a kindly smile.

"Perhaps its best if we all went to bed," she said casually, as if Harry Potter, twice times saviour, of the wizarding world, had not just committed arson in her kitchen.

Hermione peered at the said hero from behind her chewed finger nails with an expression reserved only for war and exams.

"Harry," she said tentatively, as though he was an incendiary device left behind by the last score of Death Eaters destined for martyrdom. "You really have to understand this…"

Harry pressed his eyelids together and tilted his head back in a desperate attempt to control his temper or perhaps in bizarre stab at praying for deliverance to an alternate reality where he could kill Voldemort with impunity.

"Voldemort murdered my parents," hissed Harry as hate poisoned his voice, "and Cedric and Sirius and Dumbledore. He has taken _everything_ from me. _He deserves to rot in Hell!_ "

From somewhere in the room Tonk's soft cries could be heard and Harry knew that Remus would be comforting her in his gentle way.

"We have all suffered, Harry," whispered Hermione, her voice cracking under the emotional strain, "we loved Sirius and Dumbledore too,"

He wanted to scream that she had never depended as Sirius has he had and she had not seen Dumbledore's murder first hand but he held his breath.

"Harry, pull yourself together, boy," the gruff voice of Alastor Moody did nothing to calm his raging emotions. "The Wizengamot made its ruling, Hero or not, you can't do anything about it."

"Where's Snape?" demanded Harry so suddenly that Moody's glass eye spun sporadically in it socket like a crazed bee.

"What's that got to do with anything?" growled Moody tersely as he stilled his eye.

"Just wanted to know if he's been let off as well," replied Harry with an undeserving sarcasm.

"Now I'm having none of that, Potter," snapped McGonagall as she strolled purposely through the clutter of magical objects and people to get to him. "Everyone has and will be tried fairly…well, they'll be tried…"

"There must still be Voldemort's supporters in the Ministry, this is the only way he could possible be allowed to live!" snarled Harry, his feral rage taking hold of his mind and body.

" _Tom Riddle_ has lost his memories and therefore he ceases to be He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He remembers nothing of his past. How can we punish someone for crimes they did not commit?" demanded McGonagall, though she did not sound particularly convinced of her own line of reasoning.

"Harry, please listen to us," implored Hermione, "this is a dangerous time for you – No, not because Voldemort's taken over the ministry!" she snapped in exasperation, "The Ministry itself is having doubts about you, Harry, your mission has been fulfilled and they can't decide whether you're a threat or not…"

"Me, a threat?" laughed Harry but the it was so cold and humourless even to his ears.

"Harry, remember what Fudge and Umbridge did…the world isn't divided between good people and Death Eaters. You can't afford for the Wizengamot to see you as a potential rebel."

Hermione's words twisted his guts as painfully as Voldemort's _crucio_ had just several weeks ago. It seemed that defeating Voldemort had only brought about a new and even more powerful enemy bent on controlling his every move.

"Harry," the gentle voice of Mrs Weasley reached out to him across what seemed like an great distance, "I can't say I understand what your going through, but it pains me to see you like this…"

She broke off as fat tear cascaded down her face like the rain splattering on the window behind the curtains. However her tears had the desired effect, Harry's rage was abating.

"Listen, Potter," growled Moody who saw the opportunity to get his words through, "You got no choice on this one…I'm not supposed to say this but – Potter, they're discussing whether your actions during the war are really war crimes – No, boy, the Wizengamot hasn't been mass _Imperio_ ed by a bunch of manic _unmarked_ Death Eaters," snarled Moody when he caught sight of Harry's face, "The Ministry is going to do its best to control you, Potter, you are simply too much of an independent element, as shown by your little stints during the war -,"

"I was destroying the Dark-,"

"- We _know_ what you were doing, Potter, and the Ministry does too. However it stands that Ministry is disturbed by the magic you used. That _crucio_ curse on Bellatrix was definitely not a good idea. You can't take it back now but you can improve your chances for the future. Surely you want a nice quiet life and a family at some point, but that all depends on your relation with Ministry."

Moody leaned towards him as if to emphasised his words, the mottled scars on his face standing out in sharp relief under the glow from the fire.

"You-know-who was an outlaw, upsetting him you can handle, but, Boy, you are way out of your league against the Ministry!"

"I just can't believe -,"

"You'd better start believing it, boy, because your life and that of your friends and associates are on the line here. The Ministry doesn't use Avada Kedavra but who needs the killing curse when you've got Dementors, uh?"

"So I'm being blackmailed into spending an hour a day with Lord Voldemort…"

The chilling high pitch laughter that came out of Harry's mouth cut through his ears and caused his scar to twinge with pain.

 


	2. The Preordained Appointment

 

"Breath...I can handle this…" muttered Harry to himself as he stepped off the muggle bus just outside a dilapidated block of a long abandoned department store. Even the pavements here were covered in grim and dust, which had no doubt peeled from the building and drifted down like dandruff.

Gingerly he approached the display of naked and mutilated dummies in various states of decay. However his attention was inevitably drawn to the one in the middle for it had been charmed to allow him access to St. Mungo's.

"Um…I'm here to see -,"

"You'd be Harry Potter," interrupted the dummy in a pleasantly patronising voice, "we've been expecting you, do come in."

Walking through magical barriers always caused a primeval instinct within him to protest and Harry doubted that he would ever get used to passing through solid glass for the rest of his life. Unfortunately given the circumstance the rest of his life could be the next two hours or so.

Suddenly the world before him blossomed into a clean and efficient hospital reception hall with lime green chairs arranged in neat rows and pristine receptionist strutting to and fro behind the large counter. None of the panic or insanity of his last visit here was left and there were only two elderly witches sitting serenely in the waiting area conversing in low tones.

"Can I help you, sir?" inquired a particularly striking receptionist from her seat behind the counter. "Oh! You're Harry Potter."

Harry cringed at her excitement but the sooner he approached her the sooner he could get this ugly episode of his life over with.

"I'm here to see-,"

"- that'll be Tom Riddle, fourth four – spell damage," replied the receptionist with no less enthusiasm. Mentally Harry marvelled at the speed with which people could change their long held values with the right kind of authoritative pressure. "Would you like me to show you the way?"

Rather taken aback by the young lady's eagerness Harry was about to comply when he saw the luscious gleam in her eyes which repulsively reminded him of Romilda Vane. Suddenly he felt the urgent need to be alone.

"No thank you," he said firmly and dashed off towards the stairs without further ado.

The climb to the fourth floor, which Harry had hoped would last long enough for him to collect his thoughts and still his erratic nerves, was far too short. As he stood in the long corridor decorated with the portraits of a hundred dead wizards who all seemed to be staring at him, Harry felt a sudden wave of electrocuting fear shoot through him. However Hermione's shrill voice rang in his ear,

" _Harry, honestly, the man has lost his memory –_ _ **he doesn't remember a thing!**_ _– not even what the Ministry of Magic is. I highly doubt he's going to attack you in that state."_

" _Besides"_ Ron had said that morning with great confidence, _"Dad's got half the auror department present – unseen of course – but still if You-Know-Who so much as twitches in the wrong way he'll be dead before you can –,"_

" _That's enough Ron!"_

"Okay, I can do this…" said Harry to himself as he tried to forget the jabbing fear in his heart and the horrible knot in his intestines.

"Sure you can lad," cried one of the numerous portraits in a distinct West Country accent.

"Thanks," whispered Harry shakily.

"Two doors on the right."

_Two doors on the right was the permanent spell damage ward where Neville's parents still lived and…Lockhart too…_

Slowly Harry approached the door and reached tentatively out for the round brass door knob that protruded innocently from the carved wood. However before he could grasp it the door flew open of its own accord and Harry was greeted by a horrific scene.

Sitting calmly in an old worn armchair opposite Gilderoy Lockhart was Tom Marvolo Riddle in all his handsome glory.

"Oh, Harry, you came!" squealed the nurse as if they were long lost relatives and thrust a silver tray of dainty biscuits into Harry's limp arms. "Help yourself, we've been so looking forwards to your visit…I'll go get Neville."

" _Neville!_ " exclaimed Harry before he could stop himself and a plump round face pop out from behind the flowery curtained enclosure. It was Neville Longbottom looking, despite his height, still like the bucktoothed, bat-earred eleven year old Harry had met on the Hogwarts express.

"Harry! I thought I heard someone calling your name!" Neville jumped clumsily out of his hiding place and rushed towards him. "How've you been?"

"Er…fine," said Harry as he tried to keep an eye on Voldemort over the top of Neville's head.

"Oh, you've met Tom," said Neville without a glitch in his smile. "He's the best chess player ever, Harry, even better than Ron!" Harry almost cringed at his enthusiasm.

"Oh, I wouldn't say so," said the deep smooth voice almost coyly. It sent a horrible shudder down Harry's spine. "You must be Harry Potter, Neville told me that you would come to visit me,"

Sudden Voldemort stepped around Neville and Harry found himself face to face with his arch nemesis again.

"Nurse Ella has told me so much about you…" Voldemort's green eyes betrayed so much emotion as though he was finally meeting a long lost relative.

_Funny how looks can be catchy,_ thought Harry cynically as he looked towards the nurse, who was simpering stupidly next to Gilderoy Lockhart. Suddenly he found himself wondering whether he could get away with murdering her by blaming it on Voldemort.

However before he could formulate a plan two arms grabbed him into a brief embrace. By the time Harry had managed to reorganise his brain Voldemort had retracted his tentacles leaving Harry breathless with fright, his heart hammering in his chest.

"You -,"

"I'm sorry," said Voldemort, though it was Tom's voice that passed his lips, "I'm so sorry that we argued…" The pain in his voice was so convincing that the nurse actually shed a tear.

A silent moment of stunned disbelief passed as Harry gaped like a baboon at the watery green eyes of his nemesis.

"I wish it hadn't been this way," whispered Voldemort, "I hope you will be able to forgive me…"

If it was at all possible Harry's mouth opened a bit wider.

"I understand how you feel, but Harry -,"

Suddenly it dawned on Harry's shocked brain. A thousand tiny synapses fired all at once and the pulsing grey matter regained consciousness.

_THEY'VE TOLD HIM ABOUT HIS PAST LIFE! I_ _**can't believe** _ _anyone would be that stupid but apparent I was wrong!_

_Yes…Kill him! Curse him! Rip him to shreds and may his body rot and his soul fester in HELL!_

"Listen, Voldemort, the ministry may think you're reformed but I know otherwise -,"

"Harry! You don't know what you're saying!" squealed Neville as he desperately tried to prevent Harry from voicing his all too aggressive thoughts.

"Neville, _shut up!_ " snarled Harry as he advanced towards Voldemort with no clear intention in mind. His wand had been left at the Weasleys' to prevent any "rash reactions" as the ministry had put it. However a wand was the last thing on Harry's mind. The pent up rage of the last few weeks had accumulated in a bubbling hot wrath that coursed through his veins like the volcanic lava. Nothing his inner Hermione could do to calm his pulsing, quivering mind and to clear the blood red spots that were forming before his eyes.

_Blood Lust, it feels so good…_

He was going to explode, the pressure was unbearable. Suddenly his eyes were drawn almost instinctive to the pale throat before him. The red spots ruptured and the skin before him was covered in layers of swarming red and orange.

_Yes…suffer…blood_

A sharp pain ripped through Harry's forehead and doused his inner fire as effectively as bucket of icy water. His legs turned to putty beneath him and his body collapsed like a tumbling heap of debris.

Suddenly strong arms were holding him up and the cried of alarm were echoing in his mind.

"…Harry, Harry what happened?"

_Listen Tom you have to help me – Ginny…Give me back my wand…_

_Kill him – KILL HIM NOW!_

"Get off me!" Harry's arms flailed wildly outwards and his fists seemed to hit their mark for his support groaned in pain and nearly released him.

"Harry, calmed down it's Neville," shouted Neville pathetically beside him but it served to calm him down and slowly the redness drained from his vision like blood splatters sliding off the walls.

"Are you alright?" the deep reassuring voice of Tom Riddle sent a warm sensation coursing through Harry's body but suddenly it was gone leaving Harry to gape up at the handsome face with nothing but animosity etched on his features.

"I'm fine, get off me!"

It was only then that Harry noticed the large red mark on Tom…no… _Voldemort's_ left cheek.

"Oh, by Merlin, what _was_ all that about?" asked Gilderoy Lockhart looking positively ecstatic.

"Harry, the nurse has gone to get a healer," said Neville who had somehow managed to grasp hold of his hand and was clinging onto it like a leech. However Harry felt too drained to pull away and far too drained to lift himself out of Tom's embrace like grasp.

As if on cue two healers and a frantic nurse burst forth onto the scene as though preparing to do battle.

_Though,_ thought Harry cynically, _it wouldn't have been much good if Voldemort really had decided to attack me. Clearly these incompetent sods at the Ministry didn't think to stage more people here…so much for "half the auror department"._

"Um…Mr Riddle would you be so kind as to help Mr Potter onto a bed, please," said the female healer somewhat awkwardly.

Tom complied and half carried half dragged a feebly protesting Harry towards the nearest bed.

"I can walk on my own,"

"I really wouldn't advise that, Mr Potter," grunted the older male healer who looked almost as battered as Alastor Moody. "You seem to have suffered some sort of fit by what Nurse Ella has told us. Do you have a history of epilepsy?"

"No!" snapped Harry indignantly as Tom settled him on the bed but he could not raise his hand to slap away the older man, who promptly stood next to him like a perverse version of a concerned guardian.

"Have you ever contracted Milky Sod's Disease?"

To his credit to the healer managed to say this with a perfectly straight face though Harry had to constrain his astonished amusement.

"No! I grew up with muggles!"

"Have you ever contracted the Skittles?" asked the healer as he ploughed on with determination.

"What! Are you joking or something?" demanded Harry as he lay back on the bed panting with the extrusion of talking. Besides him he saw Voldemort lift his hands.

"Harry, Skittles is a fatal disease! You have had the vaccine haven't you?" demanded the healer as though it was a travesty that Harry did not know what Skittles was.

" _Skittles_ are a type of muggle sweet," snarled Harry, "and no I haven't got it and don't need a vaccine against it."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tom Riddle looking scandalised.

"Mr. Potter, I do insist that you take this seriously," remanded the female healer sternly.

"Look, I'm fine apart from the fact that I'm currently stuck in the same room as -,"

Harry's voice was choked off as something hard smacked into the back of his head with brute force and cracked his jaws together.

"Mr. Longbottom!" exclaimed healer as though Neville had smashed a priceless possession. "There is no need for wanton violence."

Neville, however, did not look abashed in the slightest, in fact a determined gleamed had appeared in his eyes that made them glint almost feverishly, just like the time when he first laid eyes on Bellatrix Lestrange.

"I need to speak with Harry in _private_ ," said Neville forcefully through clenched teeth.

"Fine," spat Harry as he gingerly rubbed the raised lump on the back of his neck. Never in his quidditch career had he managed to receive such a damaging injury.

_I wonder why we didn't get Neville to be a Beater…_

As Harry clambered shakily off the bed a hand gripped his arm and to his dismay it belonged to none other than the bringer of perpetual misery, Lord Voldemort.

"Harry, we need to know what it wrong with you first…"

"What is with you and this sudden concern for me!" snarled Harry

" _Harry, we need to talk!_ " growled Neville furious as if Harry was the one at fault for behaving in such an indecent manner.

Twisting out of Voldemort's surprisingly warm grip Harry staggered out after Neville leaving a mix of infuriated staff and bewildered patients behind in his wake.

* * *

Harry was too busy glaring at the floor as he turned the corner to realise where he was going, so it was great surprise when he walked straight into the outstretched palm of Kingsley Shacklebolt and stumbled backwards. Upon regaining his balance Harry saw himself faced with an entire division of the Magical Law Enforcement Department complete with Hit Wizards, Department of Magical Catastrophes personnel and a generous sprinkling of gnarled aurors. Making so many people stay silent was quite a feat in itself.

_Alright, maybe Ron had not been exaggerating after all…but what's with the Department of Catastrophes? Do they know something I don't?_

"Harry, did you _listen_ at the Ministerial Hearing?" demanded Kingsley in exasperation.

"Which one would you be referring to?" asked Harry sarcastically and several dangerous wizards glared at him from the back of the group.

"The only one which you attended!" snapped Kingsley, quite out of character.

"Oh, that one, well forgive me for being too upset to have taken in all the information!" replied Harry with a snarl that would make Snape jealous.

"Actually," piped an extraordinarily short man in the front row, "at the Ministerial Hearing only the outline of the project was described. The details were filled in at the latest hearing, which Mr. Potter didn't attend."

"Well, I'm sure those of his friends who did bother to drag their behinds out of bed will have filled him in," said Kingsley and Harry was almost taken aback by the bitterness in his voice.

"Actually," said Neville in a very small voice as he shuffled his toes, "I don't think they managed to do so…"

"And whose fault is that?" demanded Kingsley forcefully as he eyed Neville.

"Well, there's no use laying into either of them now," said the short man almost jovially, "We'd better fill them in."

"Potter," snapped Kingsley, "listen carefully or you'll end up breaking the law. You are not allowed to talk about Tom Marvolo Riddle's past life in any way, neither are you allowed to imply anything negative about his past."

Harry's jaw dropped open like a malfunctioning piece of muggle machinery, despite the fact that he had known there would restrictions about hat he could reveal about Voldemort's past.

"You are not allowed to speak of your past to him either" continued Kingsley ploughing on, "nor are you allowed to refer to any negative connections you may have had with him. In addition you must quote the Ministry's story, you know what that is don't you?"

The utterly incredulous look etched on Harry's face did not look promising so Neville stepped in to help.

"The Ministry has officially stated that Tom Riddle left the country after falling out with his family and remained abroad for the last seventeen years. After he returned he naturally sought you out but you two quarrelled and had a duel. His spell backfired and left him with amnesia.

Oh and…uh you can't tell anyone about this ever…"

" _What_!" demanded Harry snapping out of his shocked state as though the ice around his mind had shattered like glass.

"Have you read the Prophet at all lately?" demanded Kingsley looking as though he would dearly love to get hold of a copy and ram it up Harry's left nostril.

"No, I'm so sorry but I was too busy trying to understand why _Voldemort_ is still alive!"

Several of the dangerous looking men twitched involuntarily at the sound of the fearsome name and Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Look," he continued heatedly, "I've been out of joint so instead of blaming me, couldn't you just fill me in?"

"Fine, Potter. The Ministry have formally announced that Lord Voldemort has been vanquished by you."

Harry blinked.

"Harry," interjected Neville nervously, "the ministry doesn't want to panic the populace. Tom Riddle has been given a new identity and can live his life in peace…"

" _He doesn't deserve to live his life in PEACE_ ," cried Harry so suddenly that Neville jerked backwards in fright. "He _deserves_ to rot in HELL!"

"I told you he can't be reasoned with," muttered someone in the crowd and Harry felt for the second time that the day the heated urge to kill rising.

"Harry, please, it's for the best and even if it isn't you've got to play along with in." pleaded Neville in an uncanny parody of Hermione's last speech.

"If you have as much brains as Dumbledore said you did you'd better listen to Mr. Longbottom," said Kingsley curtly "Come on men back to your positions."

Harry did not protest to his abrupt dismissal perhaps in the back of his mind he had known this was going to happen. The rather depressing thought drowned his anger and the rage was gone as suddenly as it had come.

"I guess that explains why everyone likes me so much now," he muttered and Neville eyed him cautiously.

"I can't say I envy you, Harry," said Neville after a brief pause, "but like my Gran said _roll with the punches_. If you ask me…I don't like it anymore than you do."

Harry's eyes brightened momentarily at the show of support but then fell back to their original dazed state.

"We'd better go back inside…" muttered Neville uneasily as though he was afraid he had said too much.

"Neville…why did Voldemort _naturally seek me out_ in the story…it doesn't make sense…"

"Uh…" a small bead of sweat had formed on Neville's brow and was busy trickling down his temple. "Uh…because," his voice suddenly sounded very small, "because you are supposed to be his closest living relative."

Harry ran away.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Harry just can't handle it anymore so he had to get away before he choked Neville and Voldemort and Gilderoy Lockhart for good measure.
> 
> Please Review! Comments are greatly appreciated

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments, question etc, feedback is very important for authors.


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